I had been thinking for a couple or three of months that I really needed to get back into the gym. I became short of breath when walking up a flight of stairs and I wasn’t able to swim as much before getting winded.
Three weeks ago was the clincher when I drove into town to get a newspaper and became out of breath walking to the paper box.
I went home and told my wife that I thought my lung capacity was diminished. She said I needed to go to Urgent Care, since it was a Saturday.
“What could they possibly do for me there?” I asked.
“Well, give you a prescription for an inhaler if they find you need it,” she replied. That made sense so I agreed. I should mention that my wife is a very smart lady. Also she is a registered nurse, holds a Ph.D. in nursing, and is the associate dean of the Tanner School of Nursing at the University of West Georgia. I said that I had to visit two people in the hospital so I would go to Urgent Care on the way.
And I did. That’s when everything spiraled out of control.
The nurse practitioner saw me almost immediately, asked a lot of questions, asked to call my wife, and administered an EKG. She then called my wife back and said that I was being transported to the emergency room by ambulance and that she might want to meet me there.
Shocked, I protested. I argued. I flatly stated that I was not going anywhere and certainly not in an ambulance. That’s when I was told that I was not in control of this situation and, yes, I was going to do what I was told to do.
The ambulance came, I was strapped into a gurney, put in the back, had a second EKG administered, and had a line inserted into my left arm. At the hospital, I was taken back to a room where there were medical people waiting (including my wife who had to break every speed law in Georgia getting there before me) where yet another EKG was performed.
Somewhere in all of this I was made aware that the tests showed that I had an atrial fibrillation, that my heart rate was at 150 beats a minute, that it was beating improperly and irregularly, and that my blood was not being oxygenated properly.
The ER doctor saw me twice, administered some IV medication, took an X-ray, and I don’t know what all else. In the end, I was discharged, told to be on extremely light duty, and to go see a cardiologist on Monday. Which I did.
I have been restricted from riding my motorcycle, have had to cancel or postpone several meetings, have been confined mostly to the house, and have had a number of appointments to be drained of blood, had an echocardiogram administered, and, yesterday, had an endoscopy and a cardio version performed (that’s where they shock your heart in hopes of restoring a normal rhythm).
In the ER I said to the chaplain, “Wow, when I got up this morning I sure didn’t expect to be here today.”
He said, “No one ever does.”
It’s funny how quickly things can change. Maybe that’s why the Psalmist prayed; “Teach us to number our days carefully so that we may develop wisdom in our hearts” Psalm 90:12, Holman Christian Standard Bible).
What’s the future? The prognosis? I don’t know just yet. But I’m not worried. My life is in His hands, as I have discovered through the years. But, assuming that things go well, I am looking forward to getting back into the gym, eventually, and getting back into some reasonable kind of shape.
And a diet. I think that’s in the future for me as well. Oh, and I think I will keep listening to my wife. She’s pretty smart about things like this.
[David Epps is the pastor of Christ the King Church (www.ctkcec.org.). He is the bishop of the Diocese of the Mid-South, (www.midsouthdiocese.org) which consists of Georgia and Tennessee and is the associate endorser for his denomination’s military chaplains. He may be contacted at frepps@ctkcec.org.]
